Sunday, May 20, 2012

restaurant




As ours is the only Chinese restaurant in town,
Its chef, my father, is famous throughout.
With the sound of chattering school children,
The screaming phones, groaning boilers,
And clattering utensils echoing in the kitchen,
While voiceless customers pamper in the fragrance
Of Chicken with Broccoli and General Tso Chicken.
Between the kitchen and front counter,
My sister and I sprint like the wind,
As my mother transforms blank-white boxes
Into finished brown packages.
Pushing past each other,
The members of my family fight against time,
But my nine-year-old brother
Deep in his rectangular bed under the front counter,
Dreams of a time when my family circles around the dinner table,
Lounging for hours around the eagerly awaited delicacies of Chinese New Year. 

2 comments:

  1. Good old times, great old memories...tears shed as I read through your post. So touching, so true, yet so many Fuzhounese families are going through the same lives that we've been through...In search of our American dream!

    To our American dream! Cheers! Fuzhounese!

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  2. Cheers! Yep, to the American dream: life, liberty, and the pursue of happiness.

    ReplyDelete